


Other Worlds

by FrankCastlesTankTop (SecretlyWritingFanfic)



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017), kastle - Fandom
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, I was told they should hold hands, Oral Sex, PWP, Passion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prompt Fic, Rough Sex, Smut, no beta and I ain't sorry, welp here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-04-23 22:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretlyWritingFanfic/pseuds/FrankCastlesTankTop
Summary: She could never have predicted how precise he would be when it came to pleasure. Detail delighted him. Their first kiss was less an introduction than an agreement – he would seek ways to lift her up, and she would gladly fall.NSFW responses to Tumblr prompts...





	1. Palm to palm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cinthiajai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinthiajai/gifts).



[rainbrosandcolors](http://rainbrosandcolors.tumblr.com/) said:

 _for a prompt... what about kastle and holding hands_

* * *

 

  
A sigh.

A shift of fabric.

The sharp hiss of breath pulling in.

The ocean-roar that breath releases.

She arches beneath him. Moans.

The tendons of her neck draw proud as she throws her head back. His hands cover hers, pin them above her head. Fingers interlace and wind hard.

“I’ve got you.”

Karen winces, balancing pleasure and pain. He is slow to move and the aching stretch reaches deep in her bones.

“Frank.”

His name is a chant. A song. A whisper he captures again and again with soft, mobile mouth. She sings beneath him – body pliant, lips wet.

“You ok?”

Yes, she nods. She smiles – skin flushed and pink; she winds one lean, creamy leg over his hip. He is overwhelmed and sinks his forehead to the tender vee of her neck and shoulder.  


Inhales.  


Exhales from his diaphragm with a luxuriant roll of his hips, driving flush against her inner thighs. Where he could spend a lifetime.

“So beautiful,” he growls and could mean her softness, their coupling, the moment they’ve created.

She sighs, pulls him tight to her, and he answers with a low rumble that reverberates like distant thunder.

“Oh, God.”

She breaks the hold. He captures her wrists in one large hand, using the other to skim down her side and cup her ass, hauling her leg across his waist. Untethered now, her shoulders brace in the sheets as her hips lift into him. They pause together at the apex. Her eyes flutter open, look down her nose to catch his gaze. Flashes sketch his face in profile – his skin shines beneath a film of sweat.

“So good.”

Frank’s look is a dark storm gathering on the horizon.

She could never have predicted how precise he would be when it came to pleasure. Detail delighted him. Their first kiss was less an introduction than an agreement – he would seek ways to lift her up, and she would gladly fall.

In all the time she’d known him, Karen had sensed flickers and shadows of the man behind the skull. Frank was more than a revenge-driven caricature. More than a widower or a soldier or a killer. 

Breathless after a messy confrontation with a local gang, she watched his sure, steady break-down of a SIG Sauer P 226 (confiscated from an unlucky assailant). It was a thing of beauty. In knowing how the piece went together, Frank knew just how it would come apart. It melted in his hands. He had looked up to find her staring; lips pressed tightly together. And, damn him, he had _known_.

“Like what you see?”

In previous iterations, Karen would have blushed. She would have stammered and made an excuse to leave before things could become too intense. But tonight, he had saved her life. Again. He knew before she did that her half-baked plan would be dangerous. But rather than sheltering her, Frank had drifted from the shadows only when it was clear her gun and sharp words wouldn’t be enough to stop what was about to happen.

Brave, color high on her cheeks, she met his gaze. “I know what I like, Frank.”

Then it was his turn to laugh and look away. His smile was boyish. Another unexpected facet of Frank Castle was that he loved to be caught at his own bravado. Emboldened, Karen took the pieces of the gun from his hands and led him to the street, to her block. To her bed.

And now they move against each other, with each other. The broad muscles of his back ripple as he knits his hands in hers, clasps tightly.  
It is all she needs. Karen locks his hips between her legs and, still joined, pushes back.  
The world tilts, he rolls smoothly under her – again knowing what she wants without being told.

Karen lifts, sits tall, knees tight against his sides. The new position is intoxicating. He smooths firm hands along her thighs and over the sharp crests of her hips. Palms over her breasts like alms. Reverent. Venerating.

“Ah.”

Karen leans out, stretches each vertebra in a soft unwinding. Makes an offering of her flesh. And he worships.

He surges up to meet her, his hands digging channels along her spine. Strong arms closing tight around her waist, reaching up, threading his fingers into the loose fall of her hair.  
Her head falls back in his grip, and she is lost in their rhythm. Karen rides, chest rising with each wave, eyes closed.

He mouths at her breasts, her collarbones, the rounds of her shoulders and the column of her neck. His voice is a beat she keeps time with. Filthy, adoring, warm.

“So fucking beautiful. Like cream. So sweet. God damn. God. Damn.”

Her fingers are in his hair; clasping at his neck, kneading trapezius and deltoid, then catching the thick lobes of his ears between index and thumb. He grunts, chuckles, sinks his teeth into the soft place where her shoulder and breast meet. She cries once in surprise, pulls away (but never off). Karen gives a sharp look that raises a smile on his lips. Frank lifts an eyebrow, smirks. Challenges.

And she responds, presses her body to his, pushes him onto his back and plunges her hands into his. Their grasp is tight – neither can let go. She grinds down as he thrusts. Frank rumbles low and dangerous, but her gaze is more so.

Karen locks her mouth against his, chases his tongue with her own. Her skin is too tight, everything so sensitive. Sparks travel along her arms, raise the fine hairs on her neck. She consumes like a flame. She is an unstoppable force that may burn him to a cinder. And he consents. He holds her hands in his. He plants his feet, the new depth makes her squeeze her eyes shut.

“It’s so much.”

It will never be enough.

Frank snaps up, drives home. Karen sees stars.

“My beautiful girl. Come for me.”

And when she does: “Perfect. Perfect.”

The witching hour passes. The room cools. She pillows her cheek against his chest and drapes an arm across his ribs. Their fingers are still linked.

“I didn’t know –”

“I did.”

“I can’t let go.”

“Good.”


	2. Thumbprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen holds his chin between thumb and middle finger. Gentle pressure.  
> Oh. His lips are soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt from **[rainbrosandcolors](http://rainbrosandcolors.tumblr.com/)**  
>  _Karen putting Frank's fingers in her mouth_  
>  But what about the other way around?

Frank watches her hands. 

Karen knows this. 

The first time she noticed, she was furious. A city hall conspiracy was playing havoc with her sanity and deadlines. Frank had fallen in step with her as she walked from her subway stop. 

“Rough one?”

It was all she needed to open the floodgates. Impassioned, Karen used both hands to sketch the structure of dirty politicians and kickbacks. As she passed her palms overhead, she caught his eyes tracking from fingertip to wrist. When he met her gaze, he looked away quickly – he didn’t know he fluttered his lashes.

Now, she knows he will offer coffee so that they can share a table and a few sturdy white mugs. If she feels cruel, Karen will trace the handle with one pale finger. And he will blink fast before training his eyes on the far wall, the board of specials – anywhere but on her. 

Tonight (for it is always dark when they share space) he is in her apartment. The white roses are in their third pot and growing wildly under her single window. He wanders to them, running one thick finger under a glossy green leaf. From the cavern of her kitchen, Karen takes in the shape of him; the blocky leather coat, heavy boots; the bulk of weapons secreted at waist, spine, thighs.

“Rough one?”

He gives a small sniff in response, this man who forgets no small detail. He looks back to her over his shoulder. There is something soft beneath his long lashes and behind his dark eyes. It is only for her. It blooms under her skin and sparks fire in her chest. 

Karen sets their beers down on the worktop. He blinks softly at the sharp sound in the quiet room. She moves to him; he meets her halfway. They stand together, held apart by a vibration of air and heat. Karen’s fingertips lift beneath his, traces in that same delicate way he knows she touches all things. He holds still – soft – for her.

Frank hasn’t shaved in a few days. The stubble swirls down his cheeks, shading his skin and prickling under her fingers as she draws up over his jaw. Karen holds his chin between thumb and middle finger. Gentle pressure.  
Oh. His lips are soft.

Karen runs the pad of her index finger over the corner of his mouth, traces the small smile there. Light pressure on the bow of his top lip before she presses the seam and he parts for her. Takes her into his warm mouth and guides her to the flat of his tongue.  
Holds her there between sharp white teeth.  
She sips in a small breath of surprise. Pivots her wrist to introduce a second finger, watches it sink into his mouth. He moans, closing his lips over her as his eyes fall shut. Frank sways forward, catching her hips in his hands as she drags him to her by those two fingers.

Her hands clasp his face, then carve across his temples to shape the curve of his skull. He breathes harshly through his nose; crushes their bodies – hips, ribs, shoulders – together. Frank clutches her, digs roughly into her back, and pushes her blouse up along her spine. 

His hands are in her hair; his fingertips drag against her scalp. She mewls. He knots a fist at the roots and tugs. Karen’s head drops back, bares her throat, and he sinks his mouth to her flesh. 

She is activated, curling along the lines of his body as he bends to match her. They twist, hands pushing at his jacket and her top. His body-armor. Her skirt. Knives, guns, and high heels drop to the floor. Their fingers meet at the button-fly of his trousers, and they pause. Go still. 

They face each other for a hungry, breathless second. Frank’s eyes are a fathomless, heated black. Karen bites her lips into a tight line. And then:

He lifts her easily, slipping his knees between her legs to bring her thighs up around his waist. Karen crosses her ankles, wraps her arms around his neck. Their mouths meet again, and Frank must have every step of her apartment memorized because though he kisses her hard and his lashes flutter shut, he finds her bed in a few neat steps. 

She splays beneath him, reaching out to take hold of his neck and jaw. He is beautiful like this – singularly focused, mouth red and open. The broad lines of his shoulders and chest are monumental. Karen thinks of Caravaggio’s dark-eyed angels with curling hair, and stern expressions. She thinks of Vermeer’s luminous tones. Then Frank sinks his head to her breasts, and she thinks of nothing at all. 

The sensations of his touch are lightning strikes. He drops kisses along her collarbone and mutters soft praise against her. He licks a hot stroke from her suprasternal notch to her earlobe, catches her pulse in his teeth and she bucks, claws at his shoulders to keep him close. 

“Yeah, like this?” he rumbles into her skin, and she cries out softly in affirmation. 

Always just like this.

And he his tugging at her knees, begging, “Can I? Karen?”

She nods, unable to catch her breath under his hands. Her fingers find his shoulders and travel with them as he sinks down, trailing kisses along her breastbone, her rib cage, her navel. He presses his nose to her close-cropped curls and inhales. The rush of his breath is a touch in itself, and her legs fall open. 

“My girl, my beautiful girl,” he exhales. She can hear the words and the catch in his throat as he says them. Frank takes her ankle in his large hand; palm wide, fingers clasping, and draws her foot over his shoulder. She needs no other instruction. Karen hooks her leg over him; rests her heel on his spine. 

Frank’s cheek presses to her inner thigh and he huffs hot air across her mons. His free hand smooths up her calf, urges her open gently. Karen is languid under his touch. She arches, tucking her tailbone down and drawing away from him slightly. Frank’s responding chuckle is low and dark like old brandy, like caramel. He chases his hand under her ass and coaxes her back, bringing her sex to his mouth. 

And she melts. 

He noses up. His mouth opens wide, his tongue flexes along her seam. The motion reveals her like petals unfurling and he gasps against her skin. Frank scoops under Karen’s thighs and lifts, bringing her to a new angle. He teases with soft licks, nipping to make her squirm, then captures her clit with a deep suck.

“Ah,” is all she can offer. Her hands are in his hair, then across her own skin, then straining again to touch any part of him she can reach. It is like reins snapping along a thoroughbred’s neck. He pushes forward, burrows into her, blowing his breath in sharp bursts as she writhes. Karen digs her heel into him then loses her balance. As her leg turns away from Frank’s shoulder, he curves his hand to her entrance, dipping his fingertips in the slickness there. 

“Jesus. So perfect,” it is a whispered confession. He is on his knees. 

When he breaches her, it is like an electric surge. Karen lifts away from the bed and he takes hold of her hip to return her to earth. Two fingers and she is tight, but he is gentle. He is perfection. He coils forward, and she thrashes softly, clasps at his wrist – before he can draw away, she is pulling him in, urging for more without the agency of words. 

“Can you – for me?”

She nods, sweat along her hairline and prickling her skin. Karen bares her teeth, reaches for him again, and he sighs in return. Frank gives a final hard swipe of his tongue before scaling the length of the bed to meet her mouth. They kiss and it is elemental. She tastes herself on him – salt and sweet, pungent and arousing. His fingers are deep inside her, thumping a steady rhythm that is pushing her senses to snapping. Karen locks her thighs around his forearm, pushes up against him. Heat is building to a rising boil beneath her skin.  
She is coming to her peak.

And he withdraws completely. His absence is a vacuum. No. 

Frank rises above her on his knees – the renaissance angel – and is a sight to behold. Deep chest and flat brown nipples, hard muscle overlaid in a lacework of scars and healing wounds, His hands curl at his sides, the trigger finger that only moments ago stroked her to breathlessness twitches unconsciously. He is hard and flushed, thick and shining against his stomach. Her mouth is dry at the sight. 

Frank is panting hard; lips parted as if he’s run a mile. There is a deep, focused scowl forming on his face. But there – in his eyes – is that tender softness that’s for her and her alone. Karen smiles. In the eye of the hurricane, as the world spins and comes apart, there is time for Karen and Frank. 

She lifts her hand, beckons. The grin he gives in return is beyond beauty. It is the heartbreaking delight of finding her in a crowd – of a long-awaited reunion. He takes her hand in his and falls. 

They align – her legs part again and thread over him. Pull him close. Nose to nose, shoulder to shoulder. He is thick at her entrance but waiting. 

“Please, Frank,” she sighs, pressing kisses to his cheeks and eyelids. His replying groan is of profound relief. 

“Gonna kill me,” he whispers. 

“Maybe,” she replies softly. 

He inhales sharply, draws his hips back and nudges into her. Suddenly impatient, Karen brings her hips up sharply and seats him to the hilt. He makes a strangled sound, presses his forehead to hers, exhales with a rumbling “Ah.”

They roll together, moving in a wave that brings her up and pulls him down. He presses deep and she hisses at the stretch. Frank peppers her face and neck with small kisses as he builds their rhythm. He tells her everything. The first time he saw her. The day he knew. Her perfection. Her imperfection. How right. So right. 

“Jesus. God. Karen.” 

She cannot answer. She cannot breathe. She is consumed, subsumed. She cries under him, responds to his kisses with her own. Karen stares down into the trough from the crest of her pleasure and knows he is watching. She digs her fingers deep in his roped biceps. 

“That’s it. That’s it – “ 

And she is gone, careening down into the depths of her orgasm. He strokes her face, frames her from chin to temple in his hands and moves; thrusts deep once. Twice. And then he is with her with a barreling growl that rings in her ears and reverberates through her bones. 

She winds her arms around him. Tugs him down. He drops beside her, nestling his profile against the line of her throat. She rolls her head to him, drawing one hand down his cheek, tapping his lips with fingertips that still spark with pleasure. He closes his eyes, presses a lazy kiss to them as he smiles. 

“Knew I saw something there,” she says softly, grinning.

“You never miss a thing.”


	3. In hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She lay the flat of her palm to his cheek and brought his gaze back to her – the depths of her blue eyes were dark as trenches._
> 
>  
> 
> _“What did I say?”_
> 
> _Frank felt his lip curl – half delight, half feral – as he answered low and grinding, “Don’t stop.”_
> 
>   _Cheeks pink, skin pearlescent, Karen moved against Frank in a way that pulled all the air from him in one great gasp._
> 
>   _“So don’t.”_

Their first kiss happened on the roof of a six-story walk-up on the upper west side under a cold, clear moon. 

It began with a chase. They were on the run (they always were), ducking leather-jacketed goons with silencers screwed to handguns. It had been Karen’s idea to go up, after Frank’s idea to duck across alleys had left them winded. 

“Two across on a stairwell is better ten in an alley,” she said, both of them folded over and breathless from running. Frank gulped air, nodded, and pulled her into the first unlocked door he found. Forward into the unknown dark.

A newsurge of adrenaline took Frank’s system like a tidal wave. He felt god-like, ready for anything, back in control. With a grunt he’d scooped one hand under Karen’s arm and pulled her up the close staircase, taking steps two at a time. 

They practically took flight. 

“Almost there,” Frank said as she struggled in slick-soled flats. Karen grimaced, then fixed him with a look of fair iron before darting ahead. 

Frank found his hands trailing her hips (to push her along, he told himself.) They slammed shoulders into the rooftop door, and it splintered under their combined force. The momentum spun Karen out onto the tar paper, making her laugh even as she worked to keep steady. 

Frank flattened his back against the door. He braced it shut before jamming a found length of pipe across the frame. 

“Gonna need that .380,” he rasped. 

She whirled to face him and the night evaporated. Frank had gone to church, he’d dropped acid, but he’d never felt the universe stop. At that moment, with her eyes on him and her mouth open, everything he knew lost gravity. Karen dipped one pale hand into the open bag slung across her chest (did she trace the slack zipper? Did he imagine that?) and withdrew her gun. 

“Ready when you are.” 

He felt the vibrations of pounding feet surging up the stairs. Voices carried through the door along with the metal snick and latching of weapons readying. The high whine that preceded battle rose in his ears, and the Punisher took hold. 

“Karen -- out of the way.” 

Everything happened in the space of a breath. Karen ducked behind an HVAC unit. Frank rolled left. The goons opened fire. The door disintegrated in a hail of bullets. 

Fight-time always moved differently. Taking on a New York gang as city lights flooded the night could never compare to black-out battles in the Kush. Here, it was too easy to break one man’s arm, kick another in the spine and use their guns to put holes in three more. Frank tossed the pieces and brought out his Ka-bar. It made things simpler. 

Another three attacked in formation and fell fast, scrabbling at slashed throats that poured black blood. Two men emerged from the stairwell; one fired blindly into the darkness as the other sprinted forward with a roar. Frank swapped his grip on the knife and readied for impact, stepping into the charge. With just an arm’s length between them, the runner snapped back as if pulled by a rope. His covering fire dropped to the ground a moment after. 

Frank looked back over his shoulder to find Karen propped on the air conditioner, her gun still trained on the dead air above the bodies. She was growling; her teeth flashed white. Her hair whipped across her face and shoulders like some war queen on an ancient battlefield. 

Forward, forward and never back.

It took him exactly five long strides to reach her; to pull her to him and close his mouth over hers. She gave a soft cry before wrapping her arm around him, letting him guide her through the first movements of the kiss. Frank’s knife clattered to the ground, and his free hand pushed into her hair. Her nose was cold against his cheek, and her breath stung his lips. There wasn’t enough air in the night for the fire building between them.

He groaned into the kiss. She sighed in reply and licked her tongue against his. The click of her gun’s safety was as natural as a hitch of breath.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. She buried her head in his shoulder and pressed close. 

“Take me home.”

They did not speak in the five blocks it took to walk to her building. Her slim hand in his, tucked into the large pocket of his duffel coat, was enough. They matched pace with long legs and a single path. 

Forward. Up two flights and down a windowless hallway. Karen unlocked her front door and moved into the depths of her apartment. Frank followed, closing the door and locking it behind him. Boots under the coat hook, guns on the floor. He tracked barefoot down the tiny hall into her tiny bedroom where she waited in low, gold light. 

Frank paused at the bedroom door, hesitating at the final hurdle. He watched her move from dresser to closet as if he was not there. As if they had not killed for one another less than an hour ago. Karen slid out of one shoe, then balanced to draw her foot up to remove the other. 

Something tightened in his chest. Frank fell into her orbit, reaching out with both hands to catch and cradle her; whirl her off her feet and into his arms. He pivoted on his heels – they could be dancing – and found her bed with one knee.

Karen’s laughter rang like a bell. She draped her arms over his neck and shoulders, tucking forehead and nose against his chest. They fell to earth among her blankets. Frank chased up the length of her chest with soft kisses, pushing at clothes and bedding alike. 

Karen made high, soft sounds of need that urged him on. She wriggled low, fighting against the seams of her skirt and blouse. The sight was arresting – the arc of her body, fabric straining against her rich curves. A fresh bloom of heat washed over his shoulders and chest; it spilled down his body and pooled low in his groin. 

“Karen, Karen,” he panted, spreading his hands low across her ribs to frame her waist. Frank pressed his fingers into the gathered silk and put his lips to the cloth beneath her breasts. She gave a quiet smile, pale skin rising to blush as his eyes traced along her lines over and again. 

“If we – just… don’t hold back.”

Karen slid from his hands and rose up on her elbows (pulling the thin fabric of her blouse so tight he could see her pulse). She met his eyes under lowered lashes and a tilt of her chin. “And neither will I.”

And just like that, the universe halted for a second incredible moment. Forward, now. Forward with a growl that made her eyes grow wide. Frank rolled his shoulders, reached out to cup one hand behind her head and guide her mouth to his. Karen pushed into the contact, using the momentum to bring their bodies flush from chest to hip. The constricting hem of her skit hobbled her knees.

Karen groaned with frustration. She wound her body to bring them both back to the bed. He could only follow. 

“Get this off me,” she growled, stoking him to new heat. Frank complied – always so good at taking orders – planting his knees outside hers; reeling back to sit over her hips and wonder. Karen beneath him, writhing and flushed. Her delicate fingers were already plucking the buttons of her wrinkled blouse (plum and pink in the low bedroom light, like her mouth and cheeks). There was something deliciously forbidden to this scene – she wasn’t meant for him. She belonged in the light. She deserved a man with a 401K and weekend plans, not a badly-repaired vigilante with more scars than sense. 

And yet she was reaching for him – no one else. Her eyes were lidded, her gaze hungry.

“Frank.” 

He was compelled.  
Forward.

Frank lowered himself against her, skimming fingertips along her sides and tracing up, up, up across her shoulders and down her arms. He took hold of her wrists and pinned them high overhead, putting her on display. There was nothing left to hide. 

Karen sheared left – notching her nose into the round of her shoulder (was she blushing?) as she pushed her body forward. Her breasts spilled over the lacy cups of her bra, framed by the loose folds of her unbuttoned blouse. Frank lowered his mouth to taste her, catching the delicate fabric between his teeth and pulling with impatient tugs. 

“Yesss,” she hissed, still struggling against the skirt. There was nothing for it – Frank plunged his hand between her knees and ripped. 

The seam split neatly under his hand, tearing along one long leg to the cinched band at her waist. Karen gave a groan that bubbled into a low laugh. The sound was infectious. He found himself laying against her, sharing a grateful moment – laughing softly into her neck and against her collarbone as her fingers wove circles against his scalp. 

“Karen – Oh.” 

She hummed into his forehead and brought her freed leg up over his back. 

“Don’t stop.” 

And so he matched the roll of his hips to her own; grinding into the delicious pressure where they met. Her heat worked through the heavy canvas of his trousers, and he burned for her. 

Karen reached down to open his fly; threading fingers into his briefs and taking him with both hands. His mouth dropped open at the sensation of her grip. Frank arched his spine to give her space, and she tightened her hold. He sucked in one great breath – pushing through her fingers with a deep grunt that ended in a hiss. When he drew back she stretched beneath him; parting her knees – shining and open. 

There would be a time in the slow hours before dawn to draw her out. To learn every inch of her by touch and taste. A voice separate to the narrator of his thoughts told Frank his life’s work would be to know the things that sent her over the edge – he agreed without hesitation. 

In this moment, though, neither Frank nor Karen could sustain that patience. They rolled together, and he found himself below her. She lay the flat of her palm to his cheek and brought his gaze back to her – the depths of her blue eyes were dark as trenches.

“What did I say?”

Frank felt his lip curl – half delight, half feral – as he answered low and grinding, “Don’t stop.”

Cheeks pink, skin pearlescent, Karen moved against Frank in a way that pulled all the air from him in one great gasp. 

“So don’t.” 

It was the only thing he would ever need to hear. Frank dug his fingers into the meat of her rump and yanked fiercely, drew her wetness across the head of his cock before angling her just so – and driving deep. In one sleek movement, he sunk into her root to tip. Together they exhaled into the sensation of joining. He wasn’t a praying man by any means, but – 

“Oh god.” 

She nodded. Planting her hands on the joints of his shoulders, Karen flexed her spine and hips to find a more profound fit. The sensation of her body accommodating him was a new kind of magic. Frank tensed, and he realized he was gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust. 

She pressed her lips into a dark red line, exhaling through her nose in a long breath. And then she moved. And he could not wait. 

They rocked together; Karen keening with each rough slide. Frank worked his thumbs into the creases of her hips, pinning and releasing as she rode him. Her jewel-like wetness ran down the inside of his thighs, warm and slick. She was so tight – constricting incredibly, drawing him on and on. 

There was a minute flutter in her depths and Karen’s whole body twisted. Ribs expanded, legs contracted; the slender column of her throat was exposed - begging for his rough, heated hand to wrap tight as she gasped. Karen sunk her jaw against his fingers and curved her hips back. The thrum of her inner muscles grew stronger, clenched down in a cresting pleasure that stole his breath in sympathy. 

It was a miracle to witness Karen caught in shadow, yet bursting with light. The lamp’s glow teased at her lines as she bent back across his knees, racked with the strength of her orgasm. Frank felt it echo through him – the tidal pull of her pleasure taking hold in his belly and tipping him into her depths. 

He did not see stars. He saw the bow of her lips and the curve of her eyelids as they closed. He saw the fine flush that rose along her neck and breastbone. He saw the shape of her mouth form his name, and the peace of her body aligning with his in the bed. 

Winding legs. Joined hands. Frank’s arm cantilevered over the nightstand to thumb the lamp off. 

Whatever this would be, it was theirs. It was real.


	4. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank reacts to Karen saying "Make me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes prompts get a little dirty. And a little rough. And more than a little sweaty. #sorrynotsorry

“There’s a body in the East River. Know anything about that?” 

“Someone found the All-Star, hunh?”

Karen tilts the phone away, rolls her eyes even as she grins. She’s glad Frank can’t see her smile. The last thing she wants to do is encourage him. 

“Coroner’s pissed. Says the baseball bat will take an hour to extract and run for prints.”

He makes a soft grunt, “Think I don’t use gloves?” 

“But do you, Frank?” Their honesty is as direct as it is bloody.

He demurs – her point made. “How can I help, Miss Page?”

“I met a source who says your slugger’s crew is dealing on the docks – mostly drugs, some guns. Something’s going down tonight.”

There is a pause on the line. Karen can hear the switch and click of weapons. “On my way.”

“Meet you there.”

“No way.” 

“Frank!”

“Karen!” Even over the phone his growl is fierce enough to stop her in her tracks. 

“It’s my story, Frank.” 

“And your safety. You do the research, I do the rest. That’s our deal.” 

Now it’s Karen’s turn to growl. As frightening as the Punisher can be, she’s fought darker things and won. 

“This is MY call. See you there.” 

Karen rejects four calls from an unknown number and deletes a string of unread texts over the hour it takes to get from midtown to the docklands. She’d spent the morning at the paper, and the afternoon at the coroner. Her neatly pressed office wear, trench and flats aren’t suitable for a stakeout (or more than three blocks on foot) but going home gives Frank time to burn the place down before she even sets foot on the property.

Like hell will she let that happen.

A yellow cab lets her out a block from the warehouse as the sun is starting to set. She tips extra to convince him to leave her there. As the taillights disappear, and just before doubt can take hold, Karen’s phone lights up in her hand. 

Unknown number.

“This a formal event, ma’am?” 

She twists her mouth and dips her head low. 

“Next time I’ll pack boots in my purse. Ready?”

The call cuts out, and Karen goes cold. Of course, she thinks, he could leave her here. He could drop her, take out the whole building, and go dark for weeks before – 

“Next time there won’t be a next time.” 

Frank materializes from the late-day shadows. He’s dressed for the occasion (which may or may not have been by chance) – black jacket, dark jeans, and thick boots laced over his ankles. He's clean-shaven, but his hair is getting long. It looks good on him, even with that deep scowl and firm-set mouth. 

She raises her chin and smiles: “Hi.” 

Karen knows when she’s won. His glare is confirmation. With a deep sigh that hopefully sounds confident, Karen smooths the strap of her bag across her chest and hitches her head towards a squat building on the waterfront. 

“Time to roll.”

He purses his lips, pauses, then nods. “Ma’am.”

She’s almost sure there’s a smile under that dark look. But she doesn’t push her luck. 

There’s fencing down in more places than it’s up. Frank pulls back a heavy curl of chain link, and she ducks underneath. Inside, he takes the lead, using light touches on her wrist to guide her along walls and through the shadows to a sheltered service entrance. The handle drops off under his boot, and he pushes the door open for her. 

Karen’s bravado is waning. There’s no light inside, and the smell of river damp and oil fills her nostrils. A small, squeaking voice that can only be her survival instinct starts to chatter. This is a mistake. Frank can take this one. She could get killed. They could – 

“Second thoughts?” 

His voice is nearly tender, if it wasn’t for the look she catches when she meets his eyes. Frank Castle has a way of grinning when he’s sure he has the upper hand. It makes her want to scream. 

Karen sips in a small breath, “If you’re worried, you can always go home.” 

The sour frown he answers with is worth the price of admission. Karen smiles sweetly and sweeps inside. 

There’s little room for talk as they pick their way through the darkness. At the far end of the building, spotlights highlight a row of motorcycles. She can’t make out movement under the lights, but the number of bikes can only mean there’s a party starting soon. Somewhere in the dark, metal squeals and voices rise. 

Karen doesn’t realize she’s frozen in place until Frank wraps a hand around her forearm. He’s close – voice barely more than an exhalation in her ear, “Just stay quiet.” 

They navigate a set of iron stairs to a gutted observation booth. Light paints the back wall and catches Frank’s distant tactical stare. He’s planning exits, attack parameters, shot lines. The thrust of his chin suggests the details aren’t working the way he needs them too. 

The sightlines don’t favor standing. Karen points to rotting boards where the wall meets the floor. Not waiting for permission, she unbelts her trench coat and spreads it on the ground. Karen sinks to her knees and pulls where the boards are loosest. The wood goes to pulp in her hands. She opens a space wide enough to show the well-lit floor below. When Karen looks back to smirk her success, she’s surprised at how clearly his blush shows, even in the half-light. 

Oh. Karen sits back on her knees and turns. A shimmer of heat flushes her skin.

“See? It’s – ” She starts aloud. Almost as soon as speaks, he is on the floor beside her, his hand covering her mouth. 

“Goddammit, Karen.” He mutters. The movement was so fast; she is only tracking the arrangement of their bodies now. Frank is on his right knee, left leg bracketing her hip and drawing her along his body. His chest pins her inner arm; his free hand spreads between her shoulder blades.

Frank’s touch is firm. She is thrumming with the connection. A reel cues in her mind, everything is moving so fast: Frank in her apartment with his arms around her. Frank under the Williamsburg bridge at night. The pressure of his fingertips. The slow flick of his tongue when he first kissed her cheek. 

Frank pulls his palm from her mouth, drawing away with a mixed look of apology and annoyance. 

“This isn’t a game.”

Isn’t it? The question curls behind her teeth, but she holds it in. Frank is beginning to pant, blood rising for a fight. Confrontations may get bloody when he’s out past midnight delivering final justice, but Karen isn’t afraid. She meets his gaze squarely. His nostrils flare. 

“So goddamn stubborn – ”

“Really?” she hisses. Frank’s opinion on obstinance isn’t exactly a clinical observation. “So fucking bull-headed, you don’t –“ 

“Keep your voice down!” He moves to cover her mouth again, but she feints back into his supporting hand.

“Make me.”

Frank is fast – she’s seen him in close combat and marveled at his speed. Now, he slides a hand under her jaw, fingers digging deep into her hair, and crushes their mouths together. And she’s still playing catchup.

Ah. 

The brace of his hand on her back makes Karen go pliant. She arches into the hold. He spills hot breath over the corners of her mouth. He licks against her tongue. He groans across her lips and holds her neck in one broad palm. Frank says so little, but his mouth is made for poems. Karen gasps under his touch and Frank pulls back, brows knitting deeply. 

“I said 'quiet.'”

Lightning could strike Karen and she would feel less heat. There is a challenge in his grin and sparks gathering under her skin. She licks her lips.

“And I said make me.”

The spark ignites. Frank wraps one arm around her waist, splaying palm and fingers along her side; he scoops her leg over his bent knee. 

Karen’s prim skirt strains then slips along her thighs to gather in her lap. He holds her, pulls her back so she can feel him against the soft curve of her ass. She drops her head against his shoulder, grinding into his hips. Frank makes a small choking sound in her ear, and Karen bites her lip. 

“You said – “

Frank grumbles a reprimand, threads his hand up the column of her throat to push his fingertips under Karen’s chin and against her lips. 

“Said what?”

Karen breathes hard against Frank's hand, feeling power held in check. There’s an urge to struggle, but it’s suppressed by a roar of blood in her ears and a rush of lust firing her nerves. Her breath becomes a moan somewhere between her collar bones and the rub of his thumb on her jaw.  
“You want this?”

Karen wants this. She wants it all. She wants and wants, and God damn the danger a few hundred yards away. With a deep, shuddering breath, Karen nods. God, yes. 

There is a grunt of agreement deep between them, and Frank begins to move. HIs arm cinches tight across her belly, and Karen flexes down. She breathes into the movement, bowing her back and driving into his groin. He’s already so hard. When she shifts, he hisses through his teeth, skimming fingers up her outer flank to where her hip creases. He pulls tight, pushes forward, positions her on her hands and knees. 

Karen gives a small pop of breath that could be laughter and Frank bends forward to lay his chest along her spine. His inhales deeply, pressing his nose to her hair. The touch is gentle enough to make Karen sigh. Frank plants one hand for stability and covers her mouth with the other. 

“Told you –“ 

She parts her lips and catches his trigger finger between her teeth. When Karen bites down, he curses low and filthy; her nerves flare like fireworks. Frank Castle, anti-hero. Masochist. He puts his lips to the nape of her neck, scrapes his teeth against the knob of her spine and growls again.

Karen can feel the heat of his breath through the collar of her blouse. Their hands paw at its row of tiny pearl buttons, popping each until the garment hangs open. Trapped beneath him, on her knees, she rocks back. He grunts again, animal and needful, before bringing his free hand down to cover her through her bra. It is almost an afterthought when his fingers tighten and tear the delicate fabric.

Karen is dizzy. Her skin is too hot, and her synapses are over-loaded. She can feel Frank’s cock through the thin cotton of her panties. The sensation makes her ring. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “Like that?” 

The small sound she answers with couldn’t possibly have come from Karen Page, hard-nosed journalist and take-no-shit defender of the weak. She tries again, gasps at the back of her throat when Frank hauls her up; braces one arm across her chest as his free hand roves her ribcage, the soft slope of her breasts, her collarbones. 

Frank’s lips close over her earlobe and gently pulls. He licks a stripe down her neck to her shoulder. Moves to cover her with his hands. She bites her lip, then guides his palms down her belly to meet over her mound. Frank slides his fingers between her clenched legs and brings her back against him a second time. They roll their hips once in sync before he straightens her again. 

He moves her forward, then back again, setting up a rhythm she’s eager to keep. 

“Just like that,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut as he dips two thick fingers between her folds, then smooths his thumb over her clit. She bares her teeth and keens softly. 

“Good?” 

Karen lifts her hips away, parting her knees to encourage him. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know what she wants. Frank pulls her panties away, then curls in and presses deep. Karen nearly loses her balance. She digs her fingers into the denim on his thighs. When he pulls her back, she’s pinned between his fingers at her core and his hand at her throat. Karen struggles to stay upright, gasping as he caresses her. Frank takes advantage of her parted lips to work both soaked fingers against her tongue before he licks them clean. He groans. There are flashes of light behind her eyes. The gravel of his voice reverberates in her ears. 

Just as everything begins to tear apart, Frank pulls back. He brings his hands to her sides and propels her back to all fours. Karen’s mouth hangs open; she's so wet that it tracks along the inside of her leg. Blouse ruined, bra torn, skirt binding her waist, Karen wonders how long he’ll make her wait. 

There is a sound of belt and zipper behind her. Karen can feel the blush rising on her skin. She winds her hips in anticipation, already imagining how full he’ll make her feel. How whole. Karen closes her eyes and imagines how they must look – she on all fours, knees set wide, presenting him with her ripeness. 

And he would look incredible; his broad shape defined by the dominant curl of his shoulders. He’ll be on his knees, curving towards her, stroking himself in anticipation. He will take her in with that cinder-eyed glare that never fails to make her shiver. And then – 

“Frank,” Karen whispers. The charge built between them hangs in the air nearly a moment too long. Why is he waiting? Cautiously, Karen turns back.

Frank is as she thought: belt and flies undone, shirt rolled high over his tight stomach. He is fisting his cock slowly, taking in her angles. Somewhere along the way he’s shed his coat and piled his guns within arm’s reach. But oh, his face. The close shave exposes beautifully brutal lines – high cheekbones, broad brow, full mouth pursed and eyes sharp. Tracking her in the darkness like a beacon. 

“There you are.”

She beams, and he can’t help but crack a smile. 

“Goddamn. Willful –“ 

“Waiting.” 

Frank chuckles, bites his lip, and reaches for her with both hands. He takes her back against the tops of his thighs, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against the backs of her legs. Her legs flex open and he is drenched in her wetness. 

“That’s it,” she whispers, arching to line him up with her entrance. Karen is singularly focused now, aching for what comes next. 

“No,” he bites into her neck, his large hands curving over her breasts, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. “Not yet – takin’ my time.”

But it’s her story, after all. Karen lifts against his back, bucking her hips and stretching to loop both arms back across his shoulders and over his neck. God, she hasn’t ever wanted anything this badly. She will always want him more than anything. His cock is shining wet, slick in her folds and thudding with heat. 

“Please,” she whispers, “For me.” 

It must break him to hear her beg. Frank gives a single, determined sound before he takes her hips in his hands and lifts her up. The head of his cock parts her, fills her. He’s so thick, and she can't stifle the long sigh as they fit together. Frank pauses, then brings her down firmly against his hips, taking a moment to touch his forehead and nose against her skin. Karen plucks at his fingers and draws his thumb to her mouth, sucking hard.

He jerks his hips involuntarily at the sensation. The movement inspires another, then another. Frank drives up, curling his spine to add depth to their position. She’s hissing, calling his name in a harsh whisper that is close to becoming a whine. 

“So good,” Karen babbles, taken by the sensation of Frank deep inside her. “So good for me. God, Frank.” 

“I got you,” he answers, taking her by the waist. Frank rocks steadily, drawing each stroke long before driving back hard so she can feel him everywhere. The force takes her breath and pushes her to that knife-edge. They tumble forward, and she’s on all fours again, bracing against every thrust and trying hard to answer with her own. 

“Ah, ah, there,” she cries. Frank rolls down, one hand pinning her to him, the other reaching forward to cover her mons, spreading his fingers over her clit and applying a final pressure that sends her flying. 

The clench of her muscles is enough to topple him. Frank takes her ruined blouse between his teeth to dampen the shout. They fall into a stillness, bodies humming, aftershocks rolling through her and making her squirm against him. Gently, still panting, Frank helps Karen to her knees so she can rest against him. Karen reaches back to cup the base of his skull fondly. 

“I tried.”

“Mmh, y’did,” he answers, dazed. Frank wraps both arms around her to hold her tightly to his chest. He gives a hard squeeze, sending a last thrill sparkling along her limbs. Karen tips forward as he leans back and they separate gently. 

“I won’t say I told you, but...”

He doesn’t respond for a long moment. She feels his lips against her spine. He places slow, soft kisses at each vertebra. She can practically hear him thinking.

“Just promise me one thing.”

Karen loops one arm back to squeeze Frank’s shoulder, kneading the muscle in her slim fingers. 

“Anything.” 

“Pack a blanket, ok? I’m still picking gravel out of my knees from last time. Now I’ve got splinters, too.”


End file.
